gurabad | 037 » on and on we carry through the fear

[francel was not motivated by any particular desire to please, was not thinking specifically about zephirin’s approval, but the fingers teasing his hair into place feel like a victory. he leans into zephirin’s touch, pushing his head up against the professor’s palm, like some sort of puppy, or else perhaps the droopy-eared rabbit from zephirin’s sketchbook. the movement appears to be an unconscious one; francel’s eyes do not leave the page of boscaiola instructions, even though his gaze seems slightly distant, his heart focused on what scant affection he can get from zephirin. even the barest whisper of love secures his compliance.

it must have been easy for a man like aucheforne to ruin him.]

Mm... okay. Pancakes, then.

[ Lunch and dinner restore something of the pleasant morning, the visit to the park, and a second night of sharing Zephirin's bed seems a given, an unspoken agreement when Zephirin leaves enough space on the mattress for Francel to lie down beside him. On the surface, Aucheforne is a closed topic.

Waking to the start of the week, their second morning together is less leisurely; at six o'clock, Zephirin gives up the bed's warmth to have a simple breakfast waiting by the time Francel rises. When the previous day's misgivings rear their head anew, Zephirin only reminds the boy that they've exchanged numbers, that Francel has a ride home after class.

He can't appoint himself the boy's bodyguard, ever-present in case Aucheforne knows his ex-boyfriend's schedule. He has no grounds yet — thankfully — to take his intervention further. ]

I'll see you later, [ Zephirin says in parting, just outside campus. ] Let me know if you have new material to go over for Professor de Leusignac's course.

[francel has eaten good food before. growing up, he and his family took meals at fancy restaurants whenever there was any sort of special occasion; his mother liked to cook, but the haillenarte family nevertheless employed a professional chef for those meals its matriarch could not be bothered to make.

francel knows what luxury tastes like, and it tastes nothing like the meals he and zephirin make together — but the warm and flavorful boscaiola fills his belly, and at night, as he takes his place beside zephirin, francel thinks that this could last forever.

alas, the lovely timelessness to their days is shattered by the inevitable march of time. in the morning, both francel and zephirin need to attend their respective classes (though francel moves with a sluggishness that suggests he would rather not go to class at all), and social customs — as well as the fact that zephirin should really not put his job aside, regardless of how his houseguest feels — dictate that they must spend a day apart.

just outside campus, francel nods, affirming their implicit promise to go home with each other.]

I will. I'll — [and for a moment he hesitates, but he plows on] — I'll call you if anything happens.

[they part.

at the end of the day, francel is nowhere to be found.]

[ At the end of the day, Zephirin packs together his belongings, and makes his way to his car, sending Francel a brief message announcing his whereabouts.

At the end of the day, meanwhile, when Francel's last class draws to a close, Aucheforne stands waiting outside the lecture hall, Emmanellain beside him. "I'm positive he's here," the latter insists, gesturing toward the building. "But, er, isn't this basically us stalking Francel now? Like I told you, it really didn't sound like he was locked up in a tower against his will, in need of rescuing from an evil dragon disguised as a college professor, or anything of the sort!"

Aucheforne, leaning against the wall, crosses his arms. "No offense, Emm, but I'm pretty sure you're not his first pick to talk to if something's wrong. I used to be, until we had our falling-out..." He sighs, eyes fixed on the building's entrance, its only set of doors. "Mind texting him for me? Just ask him to come meet you."

Though he takes out his phone with visible reluctance, Emmanellain complies.

got a moment or two after class, old boy? ]

[francel does not respond to emmanellain's texts, nor even aucheforne's call, when the ex-boyfriend dares to try it. he is hiding in one of the lecture hall bathrooms, fretting nervously, picking at his skin. he caught sight of aucheforne with emmanellain from the second-floor window — a fortunate thing as they would have most certainly spotted him were he to have exited the building — and he has been in a state of mild panic ever since. what should he do? what should he say?

locked into a bathroom stall, surrounded by the nauseating scent of bleach, zephirin's text message provides a welcome ring buoy from francel's thoughts. he seizes upon it desperately, as a drowning man to a life raft. with shaky fingers, francel presses the button to call zephirin directly.]

...Zephirin? [he answers in a meek whisper, as though aucheforne might be in the bathroom waiting for him. he cannot hide the tremble of fear in his voice.] Zephirin... please — Aucheforne is here. Can you come to the lecture hall and walk me to your car? Please?

[ Francel's fearful whisper nonetheless fills the quiet of Zephirin's car. Aucheforne is here shatters it altogether, but Zephirin maintains his composure despite the concern that surges through him upon hearing that single sentence, keeping his voice carefully even, free of any urgency that might drive Francel to panic. On his end, the phone picks up the sound of the car door shutting and locking before Zephirin's footsteps resume. ]

I'm on my way. Are you still inside?

[ The walk from the parking lot to Francel's lecture hall takes a handful of minutes at a brisk pace; soon, the building comes into view across the street, and with it, the pair growing impatient near its entrance. Aucheforne, agitated, appears to be in the midst of arguing with Emmanellain.

Neither of the two takes notice of Zephirin as he passes them, slipping through the lecture hall doors unseen. In the elevator to the second floor, the professor updates Francel on his successful arrival. ]

I've reached the building. You have my word that Aucheforne won't bother you.

Edited 2018-07-25 12:23 (UTC)

[though francel would have much preferred that zephirin stayed on the line with him — anxiety and panic claw up his throat, threatening to send him into hysterics — the professor's text comes as a welcome distraction. right. that's right. zephirin is coming. and aucheforne won't bother him, not in front of so many people. surely this will all be fine.

there's nothing to be afraid of.

logically speaking.

but francel is nothing close to logical at the moment, and when he hears the confirmation that zephirin has reached the second floor, the boy comes stumbling out of the bathroom, overcome with nausea, his fingers trembling.]

Zephiri — Zephi — rin.

[suddenly — on some absurd level — francel finds himself worried about how he smells, and whether or not the bathroom bleach has sunk deep into his hair and skin.]

[ Unless Aucheforne decides to search the building for Francel, there is no reason to hurry outside and to the car while the boy is so shaken. Zephirin reaches Francel's side in a few more paces, taking him by the shoulders to steady him, ground him. ]

You've kept your word, too.

[ As promised, Francel called for help — an encouraging sign — and so he earns himself Zephirin's approval again, softly uttered as another lifeline cast his way to haul him to safety. The professor steers him towards a seat near the flight of stairs leading to the next floor up. Here, with someone there to stand guard, Francel can sit awhile and breathe. ]

I... I didn't want to be alone. I...

[rattled, francel breathes shallowly, too quick. zephirin encourages him to sit, but the boy adamantly refuses to do so, and instead clings to the professor's shirt. he is not entirely aware of what he is doing — he knows only that he needs a solid presence to anchor him.

it is a fortunate thing that zephirin still looks young enough to be a fellow student, and further, that this lecture hall is not one that traditionally hosts language courses. passersby would find them a strange couple, particularly if anyone were to recognize zephirin.

gradually, francel's breathing slows.]

...I-I'm sorry.

[ Forcing Francel to sit would be counterproductive when he seeks confirmation that he isn't alone, abandoned to face Aucheforne, and Zephirin changes his plans within moments, leaving the boy be. While Francel's fingers clutch at him, he keeps his hands on the boy's shoulders, wordless reassurance.

The lecture hall has emptied for the most part, but once or twice, the odd student turns their way to stare — Zephirin pays them no mind. Francel's shoulders receive a light squeeze, once the boy seems calmer. ]

You did well to contact me, Francel. We'll go home together.

[ Though Zephirin takes the lead to make for the elevator, he has yet to break Francel's grip on his clothing — implicitly, Francel has his permission to hold on to him as they walk. ]

[you did well. the praise tingles at the top of francel's scalp and slides its way down his neck, like a cracked egg dripping its golden innards down his spine. praise, reassurance, such a delicious thing, when aucheforne would only ever offer platitudes after he had bruised francel raw and aching. the boy shudders; he did well. he's done a good thing. he did well, he did well, he did well...

after a few more breaths of this — of zephirin's scent, his smell, his praise — francel shudders one last time. his chest heaves normally, at a slower pace.]

...Okay. [a beat.] Okay.

[pulling away, he smiles weakly at zephirin, and slowly follows him towards the elevator.]

I... I'm alright now. Let's go home... please.

[ Mercifully, the elevator is empty, and so is the ground floor — Aucheforne and Emmanellain are nowhere to be seen. The building's exit is in sight, Francel's safety a seeming certainty. Home will guarantee it.

"Finally quit hiding, Joacin?" Aucheforne's voice rings out from behind them, its tone not unlike that of an uncomfortably friendly salesman. Francel's ex-boyfriend begins to descend the stairs. "Maybe you'll never believe me again, but I was just worried, you know? Sure, my temper gets the better of me sometimes, I say shit I don't mean... It hurts that you picked some pedo creep over me, that's all, and he doesn't even look like you-know-who — well, have fun, I guess, while you still pass for a kid." ]

Campus security and the police are on their way, Aucheforne. No one believes your story.

[ With that terse warning, Zephirin turns away, as if the matter is dealt with and all power over Francel wrested from Aucheforne. He reaches for Francel's hand, squeezes the boy's fingers, encouraging him to keep walking, to ignore Aucheforne's attempts to get under his skin.

Like a spoiled child, Aucheforne abruptly seems close to throwing a tantrum, hands balled into fists, but fear of the repercussions silences him. ]

[when aucheforne's voice stops francel dead in his tracks, they are so close to the exit of the building that the boy feels rather as though he has had a near-death experience: the holy gates lie before him, gleaming with promise, but he is doomed to be jerked back to consciousness, where all his earthly problems yet plague him. aucheforne's voice still strikes fear in his heart.

laughable as aucheforne's accusation of zephirin being a pedo creep may be, francel really does look like a frightened little boy as he grips zephirin's hand in return, but refuses to continue walking.]

...It's — it's not about your temper, Aucheforne.

[his voice sounds distant and broken — a high-pitched, shaky thing stumbling out of his throat.]

I told you, didn't I? When you hit me, when you yelled at me, I — I told myself I could bear it. I would have stayed. But you — you're the one who picked someone else over me.

[steeling himself, the boy takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder at the man who used to be his lover.]

I'm sorry, Aucheforne. I didn't mean to hurt you. But it's... it's not going to be the way it was ever again.

[ For the first time, perhaps, Francel feels emboldened to say his piece with finality, despite his palpable fear, and Zephirin does nothing to interrupt the boy, simply remaining close beside him. They stop mere steps away from the doors, stay long enough to watch Aucheforne's features twist in rage. "You deserved it, you fucking slut! You're the one who used me all along!"

Emerging from another corridor, Emmanellain stumbles into view, doubled over as he catches his breath. "What—" He coughs, wincing. "What in the world is even going on here? Francel?"

Campus security indeed arrives on the scene just as Aucheforne snarls out his brand of farewell. "Whatever, I'm through with you, you're not worth all this!"

Quietly, for no one but Francel to hear, Zephirin repeats his earlier praise: ]

You did well today. Let's go home.

[aucheforne's last comment hits him like one final slap. it's not as though francel thinks they might go back to the way they once were; it's not as though he thinks that aucheforne was justified in hitting him, or cheating on him, or throwing him away only to try and pick him back up again. it's not that he thinks any of these things.

it's just that for a second, francel thinks that aucheforne is right — that he is a slut, that he's used and broken, that he was the one who used aucheforne all along — and maybe, just maybe, if he hadn't dated aucheforne on the premise that he wanted someone just like haurchefant, they could have been happy together.

maybe it really is all his fault that things turned out like this.

maybe he was the one who hurt aucheforne first.

campus security has arrived, and they have stopped to ask aucheforne for his identification now — but even though francel knows they have an audience, that emmanellain is here, that zephirin is watching, francel can't help but break down and cry into his hands, his pretty features twisting in despair.]

I'm sorry — I'm really, really sorry...

Edited 2018-08-17 02:27 (UTC)

[ One of the security officers approaches Zephirin, who excuses himself to show the man his staff ID card and explain the situation without drawing unwanted attention to Francel. Shuffling closer as Aucheforne is marched off the campus grounds, Emmanellain rummages around in his pockets until his search ends with a triumphant exclamation, forced cheer — he pulls out a crumpled handkerchief and presses it into Francel's hands.

"Whatever are you apologizing for, old boy? If you ask me, it's really Aucheforne who should be sorry. I mean, if anything, he was the stalker here, don't you think?" Emmanellain glances at the doors. "Once you get to know him, he's nothing like Haurchefant, is he..." ]

[try as emmanellain might, francel continually refuses the handkerchief; he simply ignores it as he buries his face in his hands, shaking his head over and over as he sobs. now and again, his shoulders twitch.

he is making something of a scene — but then, the one to start the scene was aucheforne, and though some students milling about are expressing a sort of cautious concern for francel, the less sympathetic individuals have already gone to film aucheforne as he is forced off campus.]

It's not — it's — it's all my fault. He wasn't — w-wasn't always — like that, I — it's m-my fault —

[ In the end, Emmanellain gives up, stuffing his handkerchief back into the depths of his pocket, visibly relieved when Zephirin returns to Francel's side. The professor's palm comes to rest on the boy's back, touching him only lightly so as not to startle him. ]

You've done nothing wrong, Francel.

[ Emmanellain makes one final attempt to help, patting Francel's shoulder before he steps back, hovering nearby to wave on concerned and nosy passersby alike. ]

[francel does have enough wherewithal to appreciate emmanellain's fussing and fretting for his privacy, but he has eyes only for zephirin as he looks up, tear-stricken and upset.]

...H-He wasn't like that until he found out that I'd liked Haurchefant first. And then after that... Every day was...

You were drawn to certain qualities in Haurchefant, and presumably, you saw them in Aucheforne, for a time.

[ Emmanellain's handkerchief went unused, but Zephirin uses his fingertips to wipe at Francel's damp cheeks, if only as a gesture of comfort. Once more, he squeezes Francel's shoulders. ]

You're not to blame for Aucheforne's jealousy.

[francel nods, though there is a blankness to his gaze; the squeeze to his shoulders, at least, helps anchor him. suddenly, he remembers emmanellain, and catches the young man's gaze when he looks up.]

...Thank you, Emmanellain. Sorry, I... I'm not feeling well. Let's talk... some other time.

[his eyes drop to the floor once more. forlornly, francel tugs at the hem of zephirin's shirt, though he does not meet the man's gaze. he seems a child trying to get his father's attention despite being fearful of the repercussions of doing so.]

Could we... go?

[home does not leave francel's lips, but it is implied by his mournful eyes.]

[ Though Emmanellain eyes Francel dubiously, he doesn't insist on concrete plans to talk, perhaps conceding that giving Francel some space and trusting Zephirin to handle the rest is the best thing to do. "Right... Right, some other time, old boy."

Outside, reasoning that Francel might welcome the contact, Zephirin takes the boy's hand again, letting go of him only when they reach the car. There, he opens the passenger's side door for Francel, but lingers before it instead of making for the driver's seat.

Leaning closer after a moment, the professor lays his hand upon the crown of Francel's head, as if to remind him of their visit to the park. ]

[zephirin has remembered the promised petting, it seems — francel's delightfully spoiled demand from what now seems like a lifetime ago — and the boy finds his lips curving into a smile despite himself. contact succeeds where words do not: this gentle touch serves to remind him that even this heartbreak is only temporary — that given time, aucheforne's words will fail to hurt him, and someday, he will be just as innocent, just as playful as before.

for a moment, francel does not feel tainted — inexplicably dirty, used, thrown away. for a moment, he feels wanted. insecurity claws at his insides nevertheless; cruelly, he reminds himself that zephirin is only a professor who is concerned for him, a man who has let him grown too close, and in his heart of hearts he knows that he should not idolize zephirin as another savior, that this is the outcome of the way he idolized haurchefant so many years ago. but still —

still, for a moment, francel does not have to feel unclean. his voice is thick with emotion when he quietly chokes out:]

...Thank you, Zephirin.

[ Zephirin has another promise to keep, and soon he will fulfill it, taking Francel home, but his hand remains placed atop Francel's head a moment longer, passing across the boy's hair. From there, that hand moves downward, palm resting upon Francel's shoulder blade.

This time, the gesture borders on a half-embrace. It assures Francel once more that today, he made the right decision to contact Zephirin, to stand up to Aucheforne. He did well.

And at last, though it will take time for the boy to break free of his thought patterns, it seems that these reassurances have made it through, reaching Francel. ]

Shall we go home?

[francel nods with improbable earnestness — it is as though he absolutely cannot wait to go home. in reality, however, he simply isn't certain he'll be able to stand any more contact without bursting into tears. he bites his lip, blinking too much, too quickly. anxiously, he swallows on the lump in his throat.]

Yes, please. Let's go home...

[the ride home is quiet. not because of any unwillingness on francel's part to speak — no, the boy drifts off to sleep by the time zephirin's care has paused at its third red light, perhaps because the day's events have exhausted him so thoroughly that his mind simply needs to rest.

fortunately, francel's dreams are unplagued by memories of aucheforne. the sudden silencing of the car's engine startles him awake; as he rubs his eyes, waking from his slumber, he has the distinct feeling that he dreamt about being a tender lamb in a rolling field of grass, with a zephi-ram calmly grazing by his side.]

...Zephi? Are we home?

[in his dream, he called zephirin by an affectionate nickname...]

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